Paint On a Slick Canvas
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Collection of various pairings for the Connect the Characters Challenge on HPFC.:: 1. PeterRegulus 2. RegulusBarty 3. BartyCedric 4. CedricCho
1. PeterReg

A/N: For the Connect the Characters Challenge (Peter) and the Sherlock Competition (Part 1, Prompt 8: write about someone who can't stand up for himself; alternatively, write about Peter. So I sort of used both prompts.) With love, for Paula because she introduced me to this pairing.

I.

He is a coward, your beautiful little coward. He follows you like a lost puppy, always looking at you with those eyes that whisper, "Regulus, save me."

You can bend him to your will, stringing him along, and he will never question you. All you have to do is give a little, and you can take everything.

II.

He traces his fingers over your bare chest. "Come to bed, Reg," Peter whispers.

You look at him, eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm busy," you say simply, returning your attention to a letter from your brother.

"Reg..."

With a groan, you push him away, sending him crashing to the floor. "Merlin, no wonder your own friends didn't like you. Haven't you heard of personal space?"

His lips tremble, and for a moment you think he might actually fight back. But then he just picks himself up with a mumbled apology, head bowed as he slinks off.

You try to focus on your brother's desperate plea for you to see what he calls reason, but your mind is miles away. You crumble the parchment into a ball and toss it into the fireplace.

OoOoO

"I'm sorry," you whisper against Peter's neck, though you're far from contrite.

It's all a game to you. How far can you push him? How much will he bend?

He curls closer, kissing your lips. "'S okay," he murmurs in sleep-heavy tones.

How long before you break him? How long before you lose him?

III.

"Reg? What's wrong?"

You push him, but this time it's not a game. This time, it's goodbye. By morning, you'll be dead, and you can't stand his touch.

Far too late, you realize that you love him. You've dragged him down with you, and now it's time to break his chains.

"Piss off!" you growl. "You're pathetic."

But he doesn't back down tonight. Maybe he can sense the finality of this moment.

His lips crush against yours, and you wonder if he can taste goodbye on your tongue. "You don't get to push me away. Not this time."

You know you should fight him. He's fragile, always clinging to the hope of affection. Just the right push, and he will break again. You would win, as you always do.

But tonight you let him hold you, if just for a few fleeting moments.

It's your final game, and the least you can do is let him win.


	2. RegBarty

A/N: For the wonderful, amazing Sam. I love you, darling. Enjoy. _You are too sweet, darling. I love you too. ohmygosh!_

I.

You tell yourself he's no good. All your life, Father has warned you about people like the Blacks. He says they're dangerous, that people like that will only drag you down.

"Be a good boy, Barty. Can't have any stains on your record if you want to work at the Ministry."

"Yes sir," you've always said, ever the good boy, always trying to please a man who only acknowledges you as his shadow, as an extension of himself.

II.

He crashes into your life when you sneak away to the Quidditch pitch for the precious rush of nicotine in your lungs. One minute, he's in the air, executing trick after trick, then he's directly in front of you, wearing an amused smirk.

"Shame, shame, Crouch," Regulus laughs, plucking the cigarette from your fingers and fitting it between his lips.

Part of you wonders how he can make such a filthy habit look so damn beautiful.

"What would your father say if he saw his golden boy breaking the rules?"

You scowl. "I'm not his golden boy."

"Suit yourself, mate," he says, slipping the filter between your lips and holding it there. "Go on then."

You inhale, fingers brushing over his as you regain possession of your cigarette.

As Regulus mounts his broom and takes off for the skies again, you find yourself thinking you need a new hiding spot.

III.

You don't think about him much. At least you try not to.

Then, over summer break, he sees you in Diagon Alley, purposely bumping into you. "Wotcher, Crouch," he says with a grin and a wink. "Having a good summer?"

"Wotcher," you echo before bruising fingers curl around your wrist, and your father drags you off.

"I've told you about his kind, Barty."

"Yes sir," you say quietly, stealing a glance over your shoulder, catching one final glimpse of dark hair as Regulus ducks into a shop. "It won't happen again, Father."

"Good. Nothing good will come from that boy. Keep your distance."

"Yes sir."

OoOoO

Night after night, Regulus invades your mind. You see his cold grey eyes, the flip of dark hair. His small but mischievous smile burns in your memory.

You touch your cheek, wondering what it would feel like to have his fingers on your skin, his mouth on your mouth.

"Stop it!" you scold yourself, dropping your hand and grabbing a cigarette.

You can't afford to think about him.

IV.

"Didn't get you into trouble with Daddy dear, did I?" Regulus asks, pulling you into an empty corridor.

Though his tone is teasing, he doesn't come off as snide. You relax slightly, though your heart races nervously in your chest. "That was a month ago. Why would you care?"

He smirks. "Who says I do?"

You shrug, looking around, worried someone might see you.

You're not doing anything wrong, you remind yourself. Just talking.

"See you around, Crouch."

"Barty," you correct, but he's already gone.

V.

You find him atop the Astronomy Tower, looking up at the stars, still as a statue. "Sorry."

Regulus laughs. "Payback for me find in your hiding place?" he asks with a sideways glance in your direction.

"I didn't mean to-"

"Stay. I don't mind."

Your feet move you closer, ignoring your mind's insistence on going back to your dormitory. Leaning against the railing, you pull a cigarette from your pocket, placing it between your lips and lighting it.

"You did care."

Regulus turns his attention to you, a questioning brow raised. "Excuse me?"

"About my dad. Whether he was upset with me."

He shrugs, his gaze returning to the stars. For several uncomfortable seconds, he says nothing, and you chew on your cigarette filter just for something to do.

And then, "So what if I cared? Does it surprise you?"

"Yes," you admit.

Regulus snorts. "Guess I'm full of surprises."

OoOoO

You find yourself returning night after night. Mostly, you and Regulus just watching the night sky together. Some nights, you talk.

"You hate him, don't you? Your father."

Your cigarette nearly drops from your mouth, and you burn your hand trying to right it. "What makes you say that?"

"Intuition."

Eyes rolling, you take a deep drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs. "I don't hate him," you correct, shuffling your feet uncomfortably.

It isn't something you like to talk about. The expectations, the pressure, never quite measuring up to man whose name you carry.

"You don't like him, then."

Reluctantly, you nod. Even that small, quiet admission feels like a screaming betrayal somehow.

Regulus laughs, but there is no humor, no warmth in the sound. "Can't blame you there."

You watch him nervously, heart racing through you can't explain why. "Regulus?"

He turns, and you catch his lips with yours. Regulus pulls away, grinning. "You taste like menthol."

"I'm sorry."

"No," he says, tucking his fingers under your chin and guiding you closer so that your lips brush. "I like it."

He's more skilled, more confident. His lips overtake yours, and you go slack against him, trying to mirror his movements.

"Your father would kill you," he laughs into your mouth.

"I don't care."

VI.

"You want me to what?"

You stare at him, trying to find some semblance of logic in what he's said. There's none.

"Join the Dark Lord with me," Regulus says, as casually as asking if you have the time.

"You're mad," you snort, shaking your head. "I don't... I don't share your prejudices. Why would I-"

"Because your father wouldn't approve," Regulus says, brushing his fingers along your neck.

You remember spending the summer wondering what his touch would be like. You remember sliding your fingertips along your own flesh, imagining it's his hand. Your imagination hadn't done it justice.

"And because you'd be with me," he adds, placing a kiss to your neck. "Burn with me, Barty."

And even though every fiber in your body screams for you to say no, even though you hear your father's voice reminding that the Blacks are bad news, you find yourself pressing into his touch, your breathing uneven.

"Well?"

"Yes," you whisper.

VII.

Trembling fingers fumble with a cigarette.

Gone. He's gone.

You shake your head, wishing you could deny the truth. Regulus has left you alone.

You light the cigarette – your fourth in less than an hour. The cold menthol stings your lungs, but you don't care.

Gone.

You laugh, but the sound is choked by the sob you can't let out.

You should have known.

VIII.

Father visits you in Azkaban.

"I told you, didn't I?" he says. "That boy dragged you down."

You slump against your cell wall, eyes peering through the bars, beyond him.

You want a cigarette. You want him to shut up. But mostly, you want Regulus.


	3. BartyCedric

I.

His eyes startle you. Grey, almost the same as Regulus' had been.

The old ache returns to your chest as you watch him seat himself at the Hufflepuff table. He holds himself with the same confidence Regulus had, smiling and chatting easily away.

You're supposed to be keeping an eye on Potter. Your master demands it. But your gaze returns again to the grey-eyed boy.

He's going to be trouble.

II.

You watch him with dancing with her.

Regulus hadn't liked dancing. You'd always tried, and he'd always pushed you away.

You wonder if Cedric would dance with you, if not for Chang and the Auror's skin you wear.

Potter, you remind yourself.

But you can't bring yourself to care.

III.

"Diggory, a word."

His friends look nervous, but he gestures for them to go on without him.

You tell yourself that you'll show him your true self. He will understand. He will accept you, just as Regulus had.

"Professor Moody?"

Just a matter of minutes. The potion will wear off, and he will see.

Regulus hadn't stayed, though. Regulus had left you in the in end. You had been too much of a monster, even for him.

"Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey? You look ill," he says gently.

You pull out the flask, downing the contents greedily, desperate for the salvation of your illusion.

"I'm fine," you growl.

He nods uncertainly.

"Fine job at the lake, Diggory. Wanted to tell you in person."

"Thank you, sir."

You dismiss him with an impatient wave of your hand, locking the door behind him and hating yourself for being such a coward.


	4. ChoCedric

4. CedricCho

I.

"Chang, Cho," Professor McGonagall calls.

A nervous eleven year old steps forward, and Cedric finds himself watching her curiously.

Hufflepuff, he thinks, though he doesn't know why this moment feels so important to him.

"RAVENCLAW!" the Sorting Hat announces.

Cedric can't explain the hint of disappointment as the girl goes to her table.

II.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn't realize anyone would be here."

The second year girl, Cho, blushes, awkwardly holding the school's broomstick. "I was just leaving," she mumbles, turning the handle over in her hand. "I'm rubbish at this."

Cedric moves closer, acting more confident than he feels. "Loosen your grip," he says, helping her to position her fingers properly. "If you hold on too tight, you'll throw off your position."

She smiles at him, and it's his turn to blush. "Thanks."

III.

"What position are you going for?"

The thirteen year old shrugs, mounting her broomstick. "Seeker, I think. Ours is leaving this year."

Cedric grins, following her lead. Seeker. He can help here there. "Easy," he says, taking off after her into the sky.

IV.

Cho stops by the Hufflepuff table before their first match, a broad grin on her lips. "Careful, Cedric," she teases. "I learned from the best, so I hope you don't have your heart set on winning today."

His teammates let out little "Ooh"s and whistles, and the Keeper elbows Cedric, urging him to rise to the challenge.

Cedric just smiles at the fourteen year old, giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "Don't think I'll go easy on you just because it's you," he says casually.

Cho winks, walking off and calling over her shoulder, "Wouldn't dream of it!"

V.

"It's a shame we don't have Quidditch this year," she says, finding him in the library. "I miss training with you."

Cedric shakes his head. "I doubt I could do both," he laughs. "That dragon-"

"You were brilliant."

His face grows warm, the way it often does when she's around. Without Quidditch, they haven't had much reason to see one another. He's missed her more than he'd care to admit.

"Go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Cho blinks in surprise, watching him like she's waiting for him to deliver the punchline. "What?"

"We need to catch up," he says, feeling foolish.

Cho is beautiful. He wouldn't be surprised if she already has a date.

"And I miss you," he adds, unable to stop himself. "And, well, I- I fancy you."

With a smile, Cho kisses his cheek. A moment later, a shrieking Pince chases them from their table, shouting about improper use of educational areas.

Laughing, Cedric leans against the wall in the corridor, zipping his bag. "Well?"

"I'd love to."


End file.
